A Man's Revival
by Monado Boy
Summary: Realizing his own shortcomings, Roy seeks help in the resistance against Bern from an old ally of his father's.
1. Chapter 1

**A one-shot I was inspired to write after playing through Fire Emblem again, or Rekka no Ken if you prefer. I just shoved this out of my head as fast as I could to get myself back into a writing mood, so it probably makes less sense than my usual standard. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem, nor any character or scenario described herein.**

**Random fact of the day: all polar bears are left-handed. Southpaws. Satan's advocates. Et cetera.**

**UNDERSCORE**

"My lord Roy," Marcus pleaded once more, "Why are we doing this?"

Roy sighed, his ruffled red hair falling in his face. He could never get it to stay matted down, even under the headband he always wore. "Marcus, you're the best knight in Pherae. You of all people should know we need his help."

"No, sir, frankly I don't. Is our situation truly so dire that we must employ this man?"

"We couldn't even tell we were walking straight into a trap with that fiend who captured Sue and killed Marquess Thria, and would've died without a stranger's quick warning. And that was here, in Lycia. It is our home. How can we hope to fare against Bern? We need a man who knows the enemy's tactics, one who can lead us to victory in battle. My father told me to seek him out if things became grim."

The elderly paladin nodded, his brow furrowed. "Roy," he said, dropping the honorific and taking the mentoring tone he so often used, "you can go ask him, but remember: everything changes. Even people."

"I know, Marcus. I doubt he will even help us. But I have to try." And with those words, Roy opened the door to Ostia's rowdiest tavern.

The muffled shouts were much louder than Roy anticipated, even having been in plenty of bars before. The best warriors from the Battle of the Dragon's Gate were often found in them, and the man they were looking for was no different, if Ostia's spies were correct.

He had been hard to find, for sure: Eliwood and Hector spent fifteen years hoping he would visit, and he never did. Royal invitations from Bern, Lycia and Erturia all called for him, offering nobility in return for his skills, but that only attracted lookalikes who had trouble learning to play chess. Finally Matthew, head of Ostian intelligence, had organized a competition to flush him out. The game was like an advanced chess match, where one controlled an army and moved to a checkpoint while battling other units. Matthew's brilliance was amazing: he located the man Roy needed not by judging who won the fastest or by who slew the most enemies, but by who had the most units alive at the end.

Matthew told no one but his lord Hector, who wrote a letter to Eliwood. If it were not for the latter's sickness, the two of them would have gone to meet the man together. The way things worked out, Marquess Ostia's curse to die in battle came true at last, and left Elibe without seeing his old friend again.

Roy shoved past a stumbling drunk, who took a lazy swipe in the boy's direction in return. The drunk lost his balance from such a simple move and fell, earning laughter and another round of drinks. Roy wrinkled his nose as the men indulged; he had never understood the fascination with losing one's sobriety and acting like animals, and not just metaphorically. There were at least three people bleating like goats.

"Roy, do you see him?" Lilina's voice startled him.

"Lil, leave before these guys do something stupid!" he replied.

The blue-haired girl laughed. "I have you to protect me, so why bother?"

His face reddening almost as badly as the other bar goers, he stuttered, "Okay, fine. Hey, I think that's him."

The man Roy pointed to was sitting at the far end of the bar alone. He had on a long hooded cloak, covering everything but his head, but it was obvious he was small in stature, nowhere near the bulk most middle-aged soldiers and ruffians tended to have. He was leaning over a half-full glass of mead, his short honey-colored beard catching the light. Grabbing his best friend's hand, Roy made his way toward the figure.

Sitting down at the stool beside the man, Roy briefly wondered why nobody was in close proximity any more, but brushed away the thought as a coincidence. "Are you him?" he asked the man, mentally kicking himself for such a stupid question.

To Roy's surprise, the man answered. "Yeah, I'm him. Depending on who 'he' is. I'm a man, so it could really be anyone. But I'm willing to bet that 'he' is the guy they organized that witty strategy game to flush out, in which case 'he' is indeed me."

Roy stood there for a second, putting together the man's words in his head. "So… you _are_ the man who won the competition?" he inquired.

"No, I lost to some creep who used suicide tactics. Those would never work in a real war, boy. Don't even think of using them."

Lilina piped up. "We're looking for the man who only lost a single character, his captain, prompting an instantaneous loss. His name was Wolf, but that was a pseudonym he registered himself under. So, is your real name Mark?" she asked.

The man, Mark, scoffed. "I don't use that name any more. But yeah, once again, I'm 'him'," he mockingly bowed his head to Lilina, then Roy. "What can I do you for?"

"I need your help as a strategist," Roy asserted, taking a half-step forward.

"Not offering."

"Why not?" Roy asked, taken aback. "You're the best tactician in the world!"

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to, _boy_?" the man replied. "I play chess. I don't command armies. Never have, never will."

"Liar," Lilina said, surprising both men with her accusation. "I remember my father would always speak of you and how you led him and Lord Eliwood to victory over dragons. He said he offered you a job as his tactician, and you turned him down! And do you know where he is now?"

"Assuming your father is Marquess Hector, I'm gonna assume he's dead, after fighting an impossible battle at a location he didn't have to defend. He was always taking stupid risks."

"How dare you?!" Lilina retorted, stepping forward. Roy grabbed her wrist before she could slap the man they were trying to recruit. Attempting to jerk herself free of his grip, she stumbled and the two teen royals fell to the ground with a thud. She hurriedly stood up, fuming.

"Ha," Mark chuckled. "That reminds me of a girl I used to know, Lilina. What was her name…? Ah, yes. Florina. She was always a bit of a klutz."

"That's my mother!" Lilina gasped. "You _are_ the same Mark!"

"I don't recall denying it," the middle-aged man replied. Then he turned to address Roy again. "Why am I needed? You're young, and I'm sure you're capable of more, newer strategies than an old, washed up tactician from the good old days."

It was Roy's turn to scoff. "We can't avoid a simple surprise attack."

"Then hurry up and die already. Get smart or get killed, but don't you dare try to rely on someone else's strength. Hector did it and it cost him his life. Stupid Armads curse. We could have beaten Nergal just fine without it…" Mark began muttering under his breath.

Waiting a few minutes before interrupting Mark's train of thought, Roy cleared his throat. "So, uh… Mark?"

"What?" he looked up at the boy, annoyed. "I'm thinking!"

"I need an answer. Will you join us, at least as an advisor if not a tactician?"

"Probably not, kiddo," Mark answered. "I'm just a man a bit past his prime, just like Marcus, Karel, Bartre, the list of friends I'll never see again goes on and on…"

"Do you mean Marcus the Pheraean paladin?" Lilina asked.

"You know another Marcus that fought Nergal?"

"Well," Lilina went on, "He's outside, and fighting Bern with us. Just so that you are aware."

Mark's eyes narrowed. If he was right, the twenty-year gap between the two wars put Marcus in his late-sixties. He was truly still fighting? "That's… interesting, girl. Now leave me be and you'll have your answer in the morning."

Roy turned to leave, but Mark grabbed his shoulder. "Lilina, go wait for your little pal outside. I have a bone to pick with him."

Lilina nodded and exited the building. Mark patted the barstool next to him and Roy sat in it. "Now buddy, the issue is this: I can't fight. That's not what a tactician does. I'm a major liability, because I have to be within shouting distance of the soldiers in a battle, but protected more than even your healers and transporters. With that in mind, do you still think you can handle a tactician?"

Roy nodded. "I've been trained by the best. I'll see to your safety personally, if I have to."

"One more question, and then I'll consider your proposal. What's your name?" Mark asked.

Roy was startled for a moment before answering. "R-Roy. Did I forget to introduce myself?"

"I don't remember. Never do the first time. Roy…" Mark nodded. "Good name. A strong name. I recognized Lilina, but you I had to be sure about. Well Roy, beat it. Come back and find me tomorrow."

So the red-haired boy left, and Mark breathed a sigh of relief, slumping in his chair. He suspected, but now he was certain. Fate doesn't beat around the bush: she knew this war was serious, and that the children of destiny needed a guide. Who was Mark to reject Fate's cruel hand?

"You gotta die sometime," he muttered, fingering a pendant hanging from a chain on his neck, a gift from his best friend. It was shaped like a tiny Mani Katti. Mark intentionally pricked his finger on the pendant's point, a habit he picked up doing before making risky orders. "Lyndis… Is this what you want?"

* * *

"_Mark! Where are you?" Lyn called, laughing when she saw him tangled in a patch of briars. "Need some help there?"_

"_Please," he said, grinning goofily._

_Digging him out with her sword, she helped him to his feet. "I haven't seen you all day, and yesterday it seemed like you were avoiding me too… Did I anger you somehow?"_

_Mark frowned. He _was_ avoiding her, but it was not her fault in the least. "Nah, must've just been bad luck. Things are getting fairly busy, you know."_

"_Liar."_

"_Okay, fine," Mark conceded quickly. Lyn always knew just when he was lying. _

"_So what's really wrong? Exhausted from training? Or... girl troubles?" she teased._

"_No, it's just… Well, do you think I'm useful?"_

_His Sacaean friend scoffed. "Is this a trick question? Of course! How far would we have gotten without you? I would probably have been killed by those very first bandits we faced together, and you can forget about defeating my uncle."_

"_But _I _didn't do any of those things. You killed those bandits. With the Mani Katti, _you_ killed Lundgren. I was just along for the ride, and gave bits of advice here and there. Things would have been fine, if a tiny bit more difficult, without me."_

"_Mark," Lyn's tone took a serious tone. "You're being weird. You think that's all you've done? You hooked Erk and Serra up by always putting them together to work out their differences. Florina became bold enough to make friends with Hector. Matthew forgave Jaffar for _killing _his damned_ lover._ Do you think anyone else could have pulled _that_ off? It's more than just your skill for tactics, your knack for people has made this army stronger than any other. Because we're not an army of soldiers; you've made us an army of friends."_

"_But I can barely swing a sword straight, and we have to devote soldiers to protecting me!"_

"_Here, I have an idea," Lyn said, pulling out a chain necklace from around her neck. It was shaped like a dagger, maybe three inches long. "This is your weapon now. It's special, like the Mani Katti is to me. I am a vessel for my sword's bite, and it is a vessel for my judgement. Your strength is your heart, so this is the vessel from your heart to your orders. It's like me."_

_Closing his fingers around the gift Lyn held out to him, Mark smiled. "Thanks, Lyndis." Then he took the point and stabbed his own hand with it._

"_Hey! What was that for?"_

_Mark smiled, even as blood began dripping from his hand to the ground. "I swear, from now on, a mistake I make on the battlefield will cost my own blood, not a friend's. Thank you, again. Now, let's go. Hector and Eliwood are entering the Dragon's Gate as we speak, so we shouldn't linger in the forest._

* * *

Watching a single drop of blood fall from his finger down to the bar counter, Mark sighed. Suddenly, he stood up. Downing the rest of his drink in one gulp, he threw some coins on the counter and strode out to meet his new employer.

* * *

**Welp, that's that. I may do a second chapter eventually, something like reflections on Mark reuniting with old friends/meeting old friends' kids. But for now, don't count on it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Lo and behold, the story lives! I'm in a total writing block concerning everything from fanfics to personal writings to school essays, but I can't get these ideas for this story out of my mind, so here it goes: A Man's Revival, the continuation. If I can manage to spell "continuation", which took me around half a minute just now. Beware, though: I played Fuuin no Tsurugi most recently before Awakening was released, so my character names are outdated. I do remember Rutger Rutoga, at least, but that's from Smash. Also, Klein Klane? Really? I refuse this one.**

**Random fact of the day: the newly-announced Fire Emblem 3DS game is **_**not**_**, in fact, the second in the series.**

**Word count: 1,509**

* * *

"Mark, are you in here?"

"Eh."

Taking the drunkard's grunt as an invitation, the blue-haired girl so closely resembling Farina lifts the tent flap and enters gracefully. Nearly overpowered by the stench of ale and body odor, she crinkles her nose and turns to the man with his head down on a small desk. "Sorry to wake you up, but Markus wanted to see you. He said there was a strategy meeting, and you should attend at least some of them. Not to be rude, I'm sure," she quickly adds, "But even I'm beginning to have doubts you really want to help us."

Mark lifts his head, squinting at the light streaming in through the flap and the shadowy girl in front of it. "I wrote the outline of the meeting, I gotta spell it out for you kids, too?"

Mark didn't really care either way; it was just one of his few moments of sober entertainment to make this little child of Ostia squirm. She was so much like her father, but with the Pegasus knight's smooth features. And such a good learner, too, mastering magic with barely a hint of mage blood. Lilina replied, "I just think you should be there. It's good for the troops' morale to see their leader out and about."

Scoffing, Mark shook his head. "They don't like me, I don't like them. Better than getting attached to a soldier."

"Why?"

"Soldiers die."

"It's your job to ensure they don't."

"Humans fail. It's in their nature."

"Then do your best."

"No one's 'best' is good enough."

"So you'll condemn to death those within your power to save?"

"I do my damned hardest, princess. But I already learned my lesson."

Lilina's eyes narrow. "What lesson? That people are scum? I almost believe it when you're nearby."

"That people die!" Mark retorts. "You meet a fighter. A princeling, maybe. A boy you've known all your life, a girl you meet pouring water down your throat after a faint. Doesn't matter. One slipup on the battlefield and boom, no more person. Then what are you left with? Guilt? Grief? Anger? A knight could understand that casualties are a part of war, and totally accept it. An impressionable little princess might break down and cry, or fall into depression and stop caring after someone close gets a sword in the gut."

"And what do you do?"

"Me? Well, I look at each and every instance of a person dying on the battlefield: and every single time, it is completely and utterly my own fault. They follow my instructions to the letter, and it kills them."

"But that's hardly your own—"

"Can you imagine, girl, looking at the brother of a man you sent through a trap? The sister of a Pegasus knight you ordered to march, forgetting about a single archer left in the trees? I feel shame, and the burning stares even after I look away, because I know they blame me. I could easily have prevented half the deaths I've caused. But you want me to be friends with people."

"Haha!" Lilina chuckles, immediately regretting it and covering her mouth.

Mark's scowl deepens. "Is something funny?"

"No, just… just interesting. You're a good person, and pretend not to be."

"Oh, now you're the analyzer?"

"That's just what I think. You've been broken before by your failures, and now you're so scared of it happening again that you simultaneously avoid getting close and work harder every moment to avoid sending people into danger."

"… All right, I'll give you that. Now get out of my tent."

"But the meeting!" Lilina protests.

"I'll be there. Just lemme get wasted again first."

* * *

It took twenty minutes before a fresh, clean Mark walked smoothly and with authority across camp and into the larger tent used for conferencing. He stepped inside, took his seat next to Roy, cleared his throat, and passed out. As soon has his forehead smacked the table he abruptly sat up straight, beginning his speech as though nothing had happened at all.

"Our negotiations with Etruria for Lycian protection have finished… Finished. …Finished? Funny word. Anway! Our negotationanans say that Etruria gets to boss us around as they please, and they're sending us off to the Western Isles to clear out a bandit problem. We leave in two days. Any questions?"

"Could this be a trap?" Sue interjects.

"Yes!" Mark stands up, pointing at her. "Perfect deduction, princess! It's a trap. …Let's follow that train of thought."

Stepping away from his seat, Mark begins the long route to walk around the conference table. "Lycia is attacked by Bern. Sacae and Ilia have already fallen –"

"We have not fallen!" the green-haired nomad girl argues, standing up and slapping her hand on the table.

"Sacae and Ilia are totally under Bern's control minus a few useless rebellions, then," Mark continues. "Etruria saves us. The entire continent is in the most chaotic state since Nergal's corrupted Black Fang. Lycia and Etruria join forces; that's just enough strength to be a major threat to Bern. Then… Lycia is sent to the opposite end of the continent to dispose of bandits. Why?" Mark sweeps his arm, asking for ideas.

"Covering their bases? We're honestly not _that_ big of a force, so sending us to eradicate the smaller threat is strategic."

"Except there's already a decent force out there to protect the villages – unofficial, of course – leaving only the mines to the bandits, and giving them what they can get from there is appeasing them well enough."

"They think we're a nuisance, that we'll prioritize Lycia over Etrurian orders or that we'll have clouded judgment in an allied battle," Markus offers.

"Roy here is personal friends with two of Etruria's best generals. They trust him, and could easily sway the king to ally with us. Assuming they, at least, are on our side, what force is strong enough to make the king disregard us and send us away?"

"Bribery?"

"Blackmail would be more likely."

"A deal with Bern."

"Yes!" Mark shouts again, pointing the Roy and startling everyone seated. "A deal with the enemy!"

"The king himself would do that?"

"No," Mark answers the captain. "He's most likely been silenced. So following this thought pattern, we understand that Etruria wants to send us out of the way because they're working with Bern, who don't want anything to do with us. The only question remaining now is… What do we do?"

"We're turning around," Markus says. "We have to protect the kingdom."

"That's turning against Etruria," Roy says.

"What would you suggest, then?" Lilina snaps at him.

"Whoa, your girlfriend's getting catty, Roy," Mark taunts, and then stifles a burp with his fist. "Damn, I'm drunker than I thought. Anyway, we're not doing either of those things. We need Etruria, and there are at least three things we'll find in the Western Isles and return trip."

"We're walking right into Bern's trap?" Markus asks disapprovingly.

"Yep," Mark smiles, producing a flask from his cloak and taking a swig. "That we are."

It took a few more hours to persuade the council, but with all of Roy's authority promised to vote in favor of all of Mark's suggestions, it finally passed. The army moved for the Isles at dawn.

* * *

Stepping out of the tent before anyone else had even stood from their chairs, Mark saw a young, green-haired mage standing outside.

"Are you Mark?"

"Yeah, kid. No autographs."

The boy stared at the tactician in awe. "You're just like she always told us…"

"Oh. You someone's kid?"

"Yeah! Nino's! From the last war! Mom would always tell me and my brother Ray that she and dad were bad guys, but you saved them and made them good guys. So I've always wanted to see you."

Mark looked down at the twelve-something boy, attempting to suppress the bubbling emotions. That little teenager and the cruel assassin… He buried them himself after a chance meeting and a week on the run together. They never mentioned a child. "What… did you say your name was, kid?"

"I'm Lugh!"

"Lugh… Has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like your mother?"

"Markus called me 'Nino' once. It made me happy."

Mark smiled softly. "I can imagine. Well, you said you had a brother?"

"Ray."

"Ray… Can he use magic as well?"

"Yeah, he's probably even better than me actually. He left the orphanage before me and I haven't seen him in a long time…" Lugh looked down.

"Well, at least we know what to look for. The young kids look for a boy like you; us older folk look for a boy Nino," Mark winked. "See you later, Lugh."

Ruffling the boy's hair, Mark walked back to his tent, stumbled in after finally losing control of his inebriation, and flopped onto his mat in full tunic and boots. "

"Well…" he muttered into the pack being used as a makeshift pillow. "Make it four things to pick up on the trip."

* * *

**~Monado Boy**


	3. Chapter 3

**Random fact of the day: the laetiporus is a wild mushroom that tastes like chicken.**

**Chapter word count: 2,988**

* * *

"Sir Mark, I would like to request your assistance for reading this passage—"

Sue stumbled back a half step as Mark shouldered her and kept walking. She sighed and began walking to the battle mages studying in a circle a few yards away from her, figuring someone else could help.

"Sue, what's the matter?" Lugh asked as the nomad sat beside him. "You're usually so calm, so seeing you so down is gonna make me sad too."

Sue turned to him and smiled lightly, clutching the parchment in her lap text-down. "I wanted to have a conversation with General Mark, but I guess I wasn't as prepared for his coldness as I thought I was."

"Oh? Lemme see it," Lugh reached for the paper and was surprised when Sue flinched, quickly moving the paper out of his reach. "Uh… Do you not want me to see it?" he asked.

"Hm?" Sue seemed oblivious that she had done anything at all, before realizing what had just happened. "Oh… Forgive me. I wanted Mark specifically to see this, but there is no harm in showing it."

Lugh carefully took the text handed to him and took a few minutes reading it. "This is a diary?"

Sue nodded.

"In what language? I see some ancient True-languages but then right here is International Basic. And… Hey! The letters are all shifting around!"

Sue nodded again. "It was my mother's personal journal from after the war against Nergal. She disappeared a few years ago, but left that stack of paper next to my sleeping bad as I slept. She had it enchanted at least twice by Uncle Canas, but he is with Mother Earth and Father Sky now, so I need a new mage to help me read it."

"Canas? I heard Mark say that he wanted to recruit a druid named Canas," Lugh noted. "If it's the same guy and he's really dead, you'd better let the general know."

"I will be sure to do that," Sue said. "But you cannot read this?"

Lugh shook his head. "I don't think any of us could read this. We've been nearly exclusively researching battle magic for weeks now. Army stuff first, sorry," Lugh apologized, offering the papers back to Sue, which she took. "Also, you should really have those papers bound. It'll protect them better."

"I understand. Thank you, Lugh," Sue smiled, ruffling the boy's hair. Standing up and walking away, she began to feel the sadness creeping back up on her. Why had her mother, Lyndis, left so suddenly? Why was Mark acting like he had a personal vendetta against her, even with his rudeness toward everyone in general?

* * *

"Did you see the strategist go by just now?"

"Yeah, he was pumped. Looked like he was getting his adrenaline going for a fight… Did someone make him mad?"

"I doubt it. Only the princess and General Roy would dare touch him with a forty-foot pole."

"I heard someone mentioned that axe-man, Bartre, and Mark just strolled out!"

"Why would he look for that looney? He would tear the tactician apart!"

So the rumors spread. Mark was hunting Bartre all through the camp. He was in the mess hall just too late and directed to the training grounds. He was in the training grounds only to be directed to the axe yard. Finally, he spotted Bartre talking to that myrmidon that was always hanging off of Noah. Mark hadn't had time to meet her yet, but the way she fought and the shining silver hair floating around her every stroke seemed oddly familiar…

"BARTRE!"

The huge, mustachioed, muscled man turned just in time to be shoulder-checked straight into the mud. Wasting no time, Bartre brought his knees to his chest and kicked his assailant head over heels.

Mark rolled, landing upright and facing his target. "Remember me?"

Bartre examined Mark for a brief moment, and then completely dropped his guard, shocking the many bystanders attracted by Mark's odd behavior. "Mark!"

And then the two gritty, middle-aged men both screamed, "HEAD SLAM!" and rammed each other in full-speed headbutts, at which point several soldiers and Lilina all sighed and went back to their duties. The two men were clearly having fun, and while Mark was known for being unusual when drunk, and this was just some old friends meeting back up.

The two men drank until sunrise, completely forgetting that the injured General Cecilia was holding a war council beside Roy the next morning.

* * *

"You're a drunken disgrace."

"And you're a liar."

"I was stabbed and bleeding out!"

"You broke your promise and lost Blondie," the hung-over Mark jabs a thumb to his right, where Guinevere is sitting calmly. Miledy glares at his nickname of her charge, but Guinevere gestures to her, believing the situation to already be ridiculous enough.

"You couldn't remain sober long enough to have a serious discussion about the fate of this army!" Cecilia retorts.

"Oh, I see," Mark replies, standing up and sweeping his hand across the council. "Class, how many of you opposed my order to finish our job in the Isles before we head off to Arcadia? Yes, nearly all of you, before Roy put his foot down and agreed. Now, how many of our men and women have died since that decision was made? That's right, none. We fought three battles including one against a Dragon General and lost _nobody_. This is historic. But my drunkenness is supposedly getting in the way of my tactics. Who agrees?"

Not giving anyone the chance to mistakenly answer the rhetoric, Cecilia slams her hand on the table. "General Mark! You are here as a guest of Roy's, and with Etruria's protection of your own army, mine. I demand you show the proper respect!"

"You… do realize we've already elected to _rebel_, correct? That makes you a traitor on top of being a bad bodyguard. I win, sit down. Time for my grand decision-making," Mark announced mockingly. "We head to Arcadia 'cause we promised the weird purple girl."

"Sophia," Lilina speaks up. "She is our guest, and saved General Cecilia's life. She is not a target for your rudeness."

One person standing up to Mark at a meeting was one thing. With Cecilia and Lilina tag-teaming, their points against the tactician were at least taken seriously, not just shot down. That, and Mark occasionally listened to Lilina.

"Whatever," Mark continues, dropping his tirade. "We go to Arcadia, and then retake Etruria. Any questions? No? Good," Mark says quickly, storming out of the tent as usual.

Opening the tent flap, he bumps right into Fir.

"Oh! General Roy! I need you to—"

"No time, Karla."

Fir wasn't prepared, and ended up knocked to the ground as he brushed by her. Bartre, who watched the event, helped her up and whispered in his disappointed daughter's ear. "He just called you by your mother's name, did you catch that?"

"…I did, father," Fir replied. Tears welled up in her eyes. "He knows you and doesn't even know what happened to her…"

Pulling Fir into his arms, Bartre says, "Fir, we haven't seen each other in twenty years. He doesn't even know we got married."

"You weren't interested in each other at all back then? You spent a lot of time in the Lycian Alliance…"

"Fir, I saw your mother as an unattainable level of strength for years. When we met up during the war, I challenged her to a duel and she nearly killed me. I was a massive knucklehead back then. We fell in love shortly after Mark disappeared, and then we had you."

"I've heard all this before, Dad."

"I know. But I'm hoping that remembering your mother will make you stronger."

"How?"

"A man just knocked you down. Quite rude to another man, and unchivalrous to a lady. Additionally, he doesn't even have the decency to help you up or learn your name, instead bringing up your dead. Mother's. Name. Regardless of your emotions."

Her father was riling her up. Fir knew that, but it was still working. She pulled free, jogged to catch up to Mark, and when she grew near, she shouted what she'd wanted to shout every day since she met the tactician.

"General Mark of Lycia! I challenge you to a duel of skill!"

Mark stops his pained stumble, smoothly standing upright as though his hangover was a total lie. Without turning to face her, he accepts. "As the challenged party, I choose tomorrow evening as the time, the place shall be the ten-foot cooking fire pit, and the weapons shall be one dagger and one short-sword of each competitor's choosing."

Fir stares at him, dumbfounded. Had he wanted this, or was _this_ his fake show and he was actually sick? It was so hard to tell whether he was the drunk everyone took him for or the genius he always proved to be. "I, er, agree. Tomorrow at sunset."

Mark begins walking again, muttering under his breath. "Really, a duel of skill… Had she said anything else at all, or even just 'duel', she'd beat me without a second thought…"

With that, Mark went to rest. He really did have a nasty hangover.

* * *

"_General Mark of Lycia! I challenge you to a duel of skill!"_

"_As the affronted party, I choose an hour from now as the time, here in the arena's second fire ring as the place, daggers as the weapon, and an additional wager of 100 gold pieces."_

"_That's two months' pay!"_

"_Do you withdraw your challenge?"_

"_I'll pay. I agree to your terms."_

_The 17-year-old tactician strode into his tent and immediately began panicking. He changed into his light combat gear, stuck a dagger in his boot and one at his hip, and began pacing the room._

_Lyn walked in and smirked at Mark's attitude. "You're really gonna duel Karla with blades and balance? You've just dug your own grave, my friend."_

"_Just help me get ready!"_

_Lyn and Mark spent the next hour going over basic dexterity drills before heading to the arena's fire ring._

_There were two types of fire ring in Ostia's battle arena. The first was a standard, round dueling ground with a ring of fire to prevent surrender or fleeing. The second was a raised, narrow ring of dueling space with raging fire on both the inside and outside, to discourage falling. Mark specified the latter._

_Balancing in the edge of the raised space, Mark's entire foot couldn't even fit across the space; his toes stuck out toward the fire. Karla faced him on the other side. Eliwood and Hector were the judges, as Eliwood called out, "First blood or first to fall. The time limit is five minutes. Fatal blows are to be avoided. Begin!"_

_Mark shuffled over to the left, while Karla ran normally towards him. Their blades met. Her first swing. Left hand. Block. Swipe from the right. Block. Kick out! Karla jumped back to avoid Mark's foot, then leapt right back in with a swing at his head._

_Duck. Uppercut. Catch her ankle. Missed. Stab shoulder. Regain balance!_

_Karla dodged Mark's stab with a simple twist, throwing her opponent off-balance. As he fell forward, her knee came up, knocking him in the jaw. Finally, she did a side-swipe to his cheek to win before he lost by default when he fell. _

_Lie flat. Brace with hands. Don't fall. Turn 180 degrees. Sweep her leg. She jumped back. Stand up. Fight still on? No call. She didn't manage to get me. Step back. She's coming. Defense!_

"_Augh!" Karla dashed again, swinging down-to-up with both knives. Mark caught them in a low x-block and swept her arms out to the side, throwing her into a scramble to stay on the ring. In that brief second, she felt a light, sharp rip across her upper-arm and knew she had lost._

"_I expected you to throw me in to win."_

"_I wouldn't burn an ally," Mark answered. Taking her uninjured arm and helping her step down the stone stairway rolled up to them, he added, "But more importantly, I wouldn't burn a friend."_

* * *

"Roy, you can't let them do this," Lilina pleads.

"She challenged him," the prince answered.

"And that makes this okay?" Lilina gestured to the cooks building the fire in the pit up higher and higher.

"My dad told me a story once. He said that Mark used to trick people into challenging him to duels so that he had the advantage, but he would only do it for good reasons. He challenged Bartre to get the wild man to respect him. He challenged Canas because he never shut up about strategy suggestions."

"So if he's doing it for a false moral reason then it's fine to risk severe burns or bleeding?"

"He's gotta have a good reason," Roy mutters. "He's gotta… He hasn't done one destructive thing this whole time…"

The fire sufficiently built, Mark hops onto the makeshift balance ring of flat stones and drops the overcoat he always wore, revealing average-looking rough-and-tumble type gear. Fir climbs to the other side, and draws her weapons. Marcus, the judge, called for order as dozens of people watched. "First blood or second fall. No conceding. One dagger and one blade of each competitor's choice. Mark?"

"Two daggers."

"And Fir?"

"The Wo Dao."

"Understood. Fighters at the ready… Begin!"

_I can do this,_ Fir told herself. _Mother taught me how, specifically after losing a fight to this man. One-move victory time!_ With that, she let out a shout and jumped the ten-foot gap, across the top edges of the flames, singing her clothes, and swung straight down onto Mark.

He sidestepped. _Fool._

Fir twisted in mid-air, landing on the narrow stones but managing to roll back up, waving her arms to regain balance. Mark didn't take advantage of her plight, which only riled her up more. "Gah!"

Up. Left. Right. Across from the left. Up. Left. Right. Across from the right. Mark dodged every swing Fir threw at him. "You practiced a single pattern for a full day. You think I wouldn't catch on?"

"Shut up and take me seriously!"

Left. Block. Right. Block. Duck the wide slash. X-block the up strike. Swing her arms out. She did a full turn and landed fine. She's good.

"Oh? You want me to take you seriously? That's what it's about," Mark yawned exaggeratedly, goading her. "I bet it must bother you when I do things like… this…"

Sheath a dagger. Revert to one-handed fighting. Change stance. Pretend this is easy. Relax more. Left, right, block, duck. Mark's analytical method to fighting was to give even himself orders, and it worked. "She's speeding up. Up. Left. Right. Across. Up. Left-right. Down?!

Mark jumped back at the change in pattern. He expected it, but she had timed it differently than he guessed. A mistake like that on the battlefield would cost an entire unit of troops, he berated himself. "Good! But now I'm bored, so I think I'll take a nap."

He. Sat. Down. Fir finally lost control of her anger, throwing a dirty kick to Mark's face. He caught her foot in a flash, twisting it so he had full control of her movement. Standing up, he angled her straightened leg around and pushed so that her face was closer and closer to the flames.

"Roy…" Lilina implored, dragging out his name to show her nervousness. "He's not gonna…?"

Roy grit his teeth, watching. Marcus had sworn he wouldn't get involved until Roy called off the match, but even Marcus might break the rule if Fir was going to get hurt so maliciously.

Thankfully, Mark stopped. He pulled Fir back to a standing position, tossed her weapons into the dirt outside the ring, and leaned in to her side, whispering in her ear. Then he hopped off the stage.

Fir followed dazedly, walking up to Roy and Lilina and staring off into space.

"What did he say to you?" Lilina asked quietly.

No answer at first, but then Fir spoke, her voice cracking. "H-he… He just…"

Then she stopped trying to speak, buried her face in Roy's shoulder and sobbed.

* * *

"So what did you tell her, _my old friend_?"

Mark squinted at the shadow in his tent flap, obscured by the light filtering in. "I told her what I honestly thought of her."

"Was it good? Or was it bad?"

"Why do you care? You're not real."

"What do you mean? I am real. _And I'm dead because of you_."

"Get out, Kent!"

"Mark!" Roy shouts, entering the tent and revealing himself. "You're hallucinating. Go see a medic."

"Bah," Mark spits. "This isn't drugs or drinking. This is just… regret."

Roy sits down on a stool while Mark stays lying in bed. "Do you… always see the people who've died on your watch?"

"Good and bad both, boy. Now leave me to my sorrows."

Without another word, Roy leaves the tent.

* * *

"_You're good, and you're strong. I see your drive, and I understand how much your mother means to you for you to work so hard in honor of her. Practice more variety. Take training. Be the best swordmaster you can be, and be proud of who you become. But be sure to have fun. Court that Noah guy you like. Take more time for friends. Be the best woman you can be, as well. I'm sure that your mother would want that, and I _know_ that she is proud of you."_

As the niece of the Sword Demon lie awake that night, hearing the soft sound of Lilina's and Sue's breathing, she finally came to her conclusion: Mark of Lycia, Strategy General of Roy's Lycian Alliance Army, had a good, caring heart, darkened by hardship but still clinging to the hope of finding a light.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm alive. I feel bad that most of my author's notes start with that sentence, but I'm a very serious procrastinator. If there was a competition for biggest procrastinator I wouldn't even enter.**

**That confusing third chapter was filler and a poorly-described fight on what I think was a street curb surrounding a fire in my mind. Yeah… I wrote it in like fifteen minutes. **

**Word count: 2,425**

* * *

"Ah, shit," Mark said upon reaching the throne room. There, he found exactly whom he expected: Narcian, currently in a standoff against Roy, with Lilina unconscious on the ground behind the prince. And that purple-haired mage Roy had hired without consulting Mark… Using an interesting stance reminiscent of druids…

With no time for Mark to call out, Narcian leapt off of his wyvern mount, opting to attack from two fronts. He charged directly at Roy while the beast began swiping at the mage. Unsurprisingly, it took one spout of wind magic to force the beast back, and Narcian ended up on the end of the princeling's blade before Mark could even approach.

"Get a cleric on Lilina, Roy; you can visit her later."

"You're an ass," Roy replied, brushing straight past the tactician and scooping his childhood friend into his arms.

"We need to discuss our next move."

"Some things can wait."

"Roy, they have damned _dragons!_"

"And we have damned _injured!_"

* * *

Pacing back and forth in Etruria Castle's strategy room, Mark stood before the assembled leaders of the Etruria-Lycia allied force. Among them were the three Etrurian generals, Perceval, Cecilia and Douglas, Prince Mildain-now-Elphin, Roy, and Lilina. Sue and Marcus were also in attendance. Not one of them looked remotely pleased with the strategist.

"You're going to get us killed," Elphin began matter-of-factly. "We're not ready for an all-out offense against Bern."

"That's what Bern thinks," Mark countered. "We can do this, provided we strike as soon as possible."

"The border is too well-guarded," Douglas said. "Our forces would be decimated before we even entered the enemy's territory."

"May I remind this council that the 'enemy's territory' includes two northern nations, both of which are struggling to resist Bern from within?" Mark asked.

"We retake them, gain allies _and_ make a smooth entrance to Bern!" Lilina exclaimed.

"No time," Roy replied. "Maybe one… But we will have to leave one to its own devices for a while longer…"

"So we have to choose?" Cecilia asked. "How is that fair?"

"Because fair wins wars," Mark said sarcastically.

"Sacae."

The group collectively turned their heads to the nomad girl.

Pleading her case, Sue continued, "My grandfather, Dayan the Silver Wolf, is leading a rebellion as we speak. Shin confirmed he was still alive and the rebellion was still active as of one month ago."

Each councilmember looked to the others, giving a collective nod. Pricking his finger on his pendant, Mark announced, "We leave at dawn."

* * *

In a seedy tavern in the corner of Etruria, an inebriated, violet-haired playboy began striking out. After his third attempt at flirtations had ended in swift rejection, he turned to sulking on a barstool, alcohol refusing to abandon him.

"Sir mage?"

"Pfft," Hugh choked on the mead purchased with his new wages, laughing. "I'm a merc, sweetheart. Say, how old are you?"

"Old enough and not interested," Sue answered coldly. "I was hoping to hire your arcane knowledge."

"What for?" Hugh said, sitting up in his chair and gesturing for the young nomad to take the seat beside him. She sat, handing him a thin, newly-bound book. Taking it and opening to the first page, Hugh sighed. As soon as he laid eyes on them, the letters on the page began shifting around until they were an indecipherable mess.

"Have you ever seen an enchantment like this, Hugh?"

"Yeah. Lotsa times. My dad used them in all his texts."

"Really?" Sue's eyes lit up. "Could you disenchant it?"

"Yeah, but I'll have to do it nearly word for word. It could take weeks even without battle being the priority, and that really adds up."

"I can match half of your army wages now and the same when you finish."

Picking up the book and rising to his feet, Hugh grinned, even as his face turned green. "You have a deal, provided you forgive what I'm about to do in your presence."

Leaving the bar thirty seconds later, Sue grimaced, feeling sick herself. She had heard of those who regularly engage in overindulgence, but the Sacaen way of life involved too much self control for any true nomad to waste themselves away. Still, she couldn't be completely disheartened; her mother's diary was finally becoming readable!

* * *

"Lilina, will you come on a walk with me?"

Rising, startled, from the desk at which she was reading, Lilina smiled.

"So why'd you call me out here?"

"I can't just ask a pretty girl out every now and again?" Roy answered.

"Stop it," his childhood friend turned away, even as she subtly closed a few inches between them. "You have a reason for everything you do now. Mark's calculations are rubbing off on you."

"Gods, just stop me before I inherit his people skills," the Pheraean prince chuckled.

"You know, I think he's a nice person, mister!" Lilina argued lightly, before turning serious. "I feel like, I don't know, like he used to be nice to people, but something bad happened. I wish I could talk to him, find out what it is. It could help him heal."

Roy looked forward as they walked the palace corridors. "My dad said once that when he first met my mom, he wasn't attracted to her. Well, he found her attractive, but he wasn't interested in her. He said it was Lyndis, Sue's mother, whom he originally wanted to court."

"Really?"

"Yeah. But he backed away after seeing how close she was to Mark. My father, at least, was under the impression that they were romantically involved. But in the end, Lyndis married Rath, and Sue was born pretty quickly afterward. I heard that Mark stayed in Lycia just long enough to honor my parents' request to name me, but then he took off. He said it was to train his tactics after the massive casualties from the battles with Nergal, but Marcus will swear up and down that he just went to sulk about Lyndis. Flash-forward nineteen years, and I find him in a bar."

"Wow," Lilina said quietly. "That sounds terrible… Do you know whether he ever confronted Lyndis with his feelings? Or rather, where is Lyndis?"

"Dead."

Roy swiveled around, putting himself between Lilina and the new voice before relaxing.

"I'm sorry for eavesdropping," Sue apologized. "If you'd like, I can tell you how things played out with my family."

"Please," Lilina said. "Would you join us on our walk?"

* * *

Why they had walked to the castle town's parapets, they couldn't say. Still, this is where Sue felt calm, and after a moment to collect herself, she began.

"My father, Rath, married Lyndis immediately after the war. I was born quickly afterward. That should make me older than you, Sir Roy," she smiled lightly. "When I was in my sixth year, my father went on a hunting trip. There was some sort of mishap, resulting in my father falling from his horse and being trampled by the great boar the group was hunting. He suffered major injuries, particularly to his head. He survived, thanks to our skilled healers, but the incident left him… Damaged."

"Damaged?" Roy asked.

"He suffered from a never-ending headache, and occasionally had violent breakdowns. My mother soon sent me to live with my grandfather, the Silver Wolf, as you know, but she continued to live with him for several months. They say she was attempting all sorts of methods – all humane and reasonable – to heal him, but it ended poorly. All I know for certain is that my grandfather took me to my mother's funeral, and my father was not seen again."

"Dear gods," Lilina gasped. "He… He couldn't have…?"

Sue's normally passive tone reflected her anger. "I believe he killed her in one of his anger fits, but my tribe never disclosed to me the full truth, no matter how I begged or demanded. After my mother's death, my grandfather chose to stay with me in my tribe, and he raised me into the woman I am today."

"He did a swell job," Roy said, putting a hand on Sue's shoulder. "Er… did you mean to lead into something about our tactician?"

"Yes," Sue perked up. "I did not remember until a few days ago, and couldn't put the pieces together until I overheard you two talking about Mark and my mother. Just two days after my mother's funeral, Mark came to my tribe. He asked me if I was Lyn's daughter, and I told him she had died. He immediately left. I only realized it was him after spending time with your army, but there is no doubt in my mind."

"This is all very interesting," Lilina said. "This would certainly explain much of his pessimism."

"I agree," Roy said. "Let's continue on our walk; it's getting fairly late."

After a moment of pondering and several minutes of lighter talk, Roy escorted the two girls to their shared room in the castle, before retiring to his own, new thoughts and possibilities swarming his mind.

* * *

"Hello. My name is Canas. I am an imprint of the original creator of this enchanted text. You are not Lyndis the Sacaen, Mark the Traveller, or of their bloodlines. You are not authorized to unseal this book, and attempts to do so will result in an incendiary spell consuming it."

"Well, that's ominous," Hugh muttered, the image of his father floating in the air. "Are you intelligent, or a recorded message?"

"I am both, mage. I contain all knowledge and memories of my creator up to the moment he created me, fifteen years ago."

"Fifteen years? Then… You have a son; he should have been about seven years old at the time of your creation."

"Correct. His name is Hugh."

"I'm him."

"I believe you. You look just like your mother. However, you are not one with the authorization to unseal this book. While I would love to help you, I'm not allowed. If you could get the real Canas to give you permission, things would go as smoothly as possible, but if this book is in your hands before mine, I can only draw the conclusion I am dead or incapacitated."

"Dead. You must've been one of his last projects, considering he's been pushing up daisies for fifteen years."

"Damn. This is hard," the vision said.

"No shit."

"I can keep the book from burning while you work it, but you'll need some blood. Do Lyn or Mark have descendants?"

"Actually," Hugh began, the absurdity of talking with a vision of his dead father failing to dawn on him, "Lyn's daughter is here, and Mark is too."

"Mark's blood would be more potent, but… He's Mark."

"Yeah," replied the son of the druid as he stood up, "Lemme just find Sue and a vial."

* * *

"_Rath!" The twenty-something tactician screamed over the storm, tears stinging his eyes and murder on his mind. "What in Heaven and Hell is wrong with you? You're a monster!"_

_Twenty feet away yet barely visible because of the whirling snowstorm, Rath stood in front of Canas. The druid's wife was lain down in the increasingly-red snow. He had threatened to kill her unless Canas did some sort of charm, and then knifed her anyway. Canas let out a howl before launching beams of dark energy at the crazed nomad. Unfortunately, Canas had already made a fatal mistake: performing dangerous, seductive magical arts without being in a state of meditative calm. Even as he tossed darkness at his enemy, the same darkness swallowed him whole, leaving nothing behind._

_Mark immediately flicked his last throwing knife Rath's way, cutting a thin red line along his neck. Not deep enough. Duck. Left. Swipe up. Jump. Step back!_

_Falling for Rath's feint, Mark leapt directly into an oncoming swipe, with a knife cutting dangerously close to his eye. Falling to his knees, Mark awaited his death. After several moments, Mark looked up. _

_Rath was on his knees, shackles of dark energy binding his hands behind his back and his feet one foot apart. An older lady, using the very same magic that consumed Canas, was standing where he had stood. In the opportunity the woman granted, Mark struck Rath over the head with the butt of his dagger, knocking him unconscious. _

"_My son," Nimue wailed, falling over the remaining body. "My beautiful daughter! Gone in an instant of madness and grief!"_

_Mark approached Canas' mother. "Lady Nimue… Is there anything I can do for you?"_

_The elderly druid looked up at him. This man, the tactician, had seen countless friends perish, had lost his closest friend first in love and then in life, and was currently bleeding out as the worst snowstorm in the last century was picking up even more momentum, yet he still offered his aid to a stranger. He was truly a kind man._

"_I will use my magic to return their bodies to the earth, then care for his son. But I see you, Mark the Traveller, and I see what you will become. You have seen enough darkness to last a hundred lifetimes, and your reward was losing the one person you love above all others. I see you falling to darkness, and I am sure you already feel it taking you."_

"_I do."_

"_Just swear to me that, no matter how dark times may be, how hopeless and despairing you may find yourself, that you never completely let go. Magic is real. Gods are real. _Hope_ is real. And as long as you hold on to hope, the hope that there is light somewhere, then the light within yourself will never be extinguished."_

"_What should I do with Rath?"_

"_That is up to you, tormented one. But allow me a piece of advice: every decision comes at a cost. Would you walk the path of darkness, or the path of the light?"_

_As Mark pondered whether to kill or spare the man who had murdered the love of his life, Nimue made her own decision: to lie about Canas' death in the snowstorm._

* * *

"Guardsman! The prisoner is having another psychotic break!" a beautiful, mature woman called, dodging fists. As backup arrived, Juno stepped back to let them restrain him. She had learned much about Rath's condition, but the revelations of his past were proving most difficult to decipher. She had connected most of the dots, leaving just two more questions for the man: what had triggered him to murder Lyn when she had claimed Rath's mind was steadily healing, and what had he forced Canas to enchant?

* * *

**This was practically an anthology. I have much less time and writing motivation than I did when I started this nineteen months ago, so I'm cramming the important plot points into this chapter and the next to prepare for the climax and epilogue.**


End file.
